


We Sail Together

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Smut, sansa goes to the dragonpit, season 7, slight bit of AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As the Targaryens sail North to support the Starks against the White Walkers, Jon Snow and Sansa come to terms with their feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this is obviously my imagining of boa*sex jonsa style. 
> 
> the reason for "slight AU" is that Sansa and Arya took care of Littlefinger before this takes place, and Sansa goes with Brienne to the Dragonpit.
> 
> hope you all enjoy and thanks to the Jonsa discord for all the kind feedback!

As the ship lurched away from Dragonstone and towards the open sea, Sansa had to resist the urge to laugh. How could she have been so stupid? Spending so long in the company of liars like the one that now sat the Iron Throne had taught her to read people; yet she had missed all of the subtle and not so subtle clues in front of her.

It had taken her great expense and effort to travel to King's Landing, even with a virtual company of soldiers – and Brienne – to attend the Dragonpit meeting. She had always believed Jon about the coming of the White Walkers – the dreaded Others from their ancient tales – but to see it with her own eyes was equally horrifying enough to convince her that reaching out to the Targaryens was a good idea.

Yet this was not what irked her now.

_We sail together._

Jon's words echoed in her head as she finally remembered the gaze he'd given her then; it was only her that he was interested in. Not Daenerys – not truly, anyway – but her. His eyes burned with a sort of primal longing she'd never seen before.

It only made her blush even more with embarrassment as she finally caught on to it. The looks, the simple and quick touches between them; it was clear that she longed for him, too. _This is wrong_ , the remnants of the naive girl within scolded. _He is your half-brother._

Normally that would be enough to snap her from this state. But now – after everything? After seeing the worst of what the south had to offer in terms of men? After being married to a sadist in human skin – only to get her revenge side by side with Jon?

Why shouldn't she decide to pursue that longing?

He made her feel good in every possible way. They were united; a team, striving to do what was best for their people. The idea of her trying to usurp him, to steal away his power – it was as foolish as Littlefinger was, and he was dead – disgusted her.

_I love him._

* * *

Jon stood outside the cabin for what felt like eternity as the ship rocked gently.

He could not move, could not think or speak or act. He was frozen, the torment within his soul locked in battle with the reluctance within. He stared at the wooden pattern of the door, his breathing shallow and anxious.

_What am I doing? She is my sister._

The fact he felt the way he did about Sansa, of all people was almost too much to bear. They shared a father; what would he think about this? It was a violation of practically all of the laws of gods and men.

Yet those laws meant next to nothing now, with the true enemy on the horizon. She had come to the Dragonpit, had seen the dead with her own eyes – and she knew that this war was what mattered. Truly mattered, not like some pointless southern squabble.

The looks. The touches. _Gods, those signs were all there_. He was just too blind to see them; _you know nothing_ , Jon Snow. Ygritte again – even after all this time, she was mocking him from beyond the grave.

The red hair, the blue eyes. The smell – Sansa was always so proper and formal, with perfumes and scents – it was enough to drive him wild. Her smile pierced through into his heart every time. These feelings were not something he could control. Not truly.

_I want to make her happy. With me._

She had suffered so much for so long – it was only right that Jon be her protector from the worst of men. From the prospect of bedding or marrying again, as many would likely want her to do. And if the way he could protect her was to be with her himself – so be it.

He would have to tell her. One way or the other.

Finally, his body allowed control. His hand went to the door and knocked before he could second guess the choice.

It was almost instantly that she answered. They said nothing, simply staring at one another. Sansa's mouth was open slightly, her breathing as ragged as his own. Jon tried – gods, did he try – to speak, but no sound came out.

Stepping away from the door, she urged him inside.

Once he was beyond the threshold, he locked the door behind him.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

Pulling him onto the bed, Sansa moaned around his mouth as she settled into the pillows, their kisses growing ever more intense. Neither of them wore anything, having disrobed almost instantly after Jon's arrival.

She ran her hands along his chest, smelling the sheer lust that wafted off of him with every moment. His hand traced up and down her long legs as she wrapped them around his backside. Jon's body was covered in a sheen of sweat as was her own – and it was the most beautiful sight Sansa had seen in many moons.

Why had they not done this sooner? The sight of Jon naked and wanting her – truly wanting her – was the most arousing aspect of all of this for her. Men had only sought to use her for her name and lands, but here was someone who cared nothing for that and saw only her.

Much to her regret, she broke their kiss and moved her lips to his ear. “Can I be on top?” she whispered, nipping at the earlobe gently.

Jon looked at her. “Anything, sweet girl.” he said, rolling himself onto his back and allowing her to straddle his waist.

For the first time in the bedroom, Sansa was in control. Ramsay had always dominated her, showering her body with bites and cuts while pinning her down. He was cruel and delighted in her suffering; but Jon? Jon delighted in her pleasure.

* * *

His hands ran up and down the contours of her body, sometimes tracing the scars he found, his lips kissing them as much as he could. In this moment there was no fear. No sense of anticipation of the blade of a knife.

As she felt him enter her, Sansa did not feel the pain and shock her body did with Ramsay. No – she only felt the tingling and shaking of her womanhood, and shivers went shooting up her body. She gasped, letting out a soft and lustful moan.

His hands never left her body even as she began to ride him, ever gently so as not to injure either of them. She ran her hands through her hair, relishing in the feeling of control that she had. Even more arousing was the fact it was something Jon gave her willingly.

“Sansa...” he choked out, his cock feeling so good inside her.

In response, she leaned down and kissed him again, the passion burning in her body now.

That sensation began to build in her nethers with each passing moment. The feel of her climax growing closer. Jon looked at her with wide eyes, his face locked in an expression of awestruck bliss. _He thinks I'm beautiful_ , she smiled, increasing the pace of her rhythm.

It had been so long since anyone had cared about her. Asked what she wanted.

* * *

Her peak was a shock to Sansa – never before had she ever been allowed such a feeling of orgasm. Her body rocked, hips rolling as she let out a series of sharp gasps, her fingers digging into the sheets of the bed, her body threatening to toss her off Jon's cock and onto the floor.

Jon let out a gasp of his own, gritting his teeth as his own orgasm struck. With a savage cry of release he spent himself inside of her, slouching onto the bed as she collapsed on top of him, both tangled together in a mass of writhing limbs.

He stroked Sansa's hair as she nuzzled into his neck, gently kissing her on the cheek. “Gods...that was...incredible...” he panted, hands coming to rest on her backside.

She laughed, turning her head towards him. “Thank you for letting me be on top, Jon. I mean it.”

Leaning forward, he kissed her once again in response, an appreciative ' _mmm_ ' escaping from Sansa's lips.

Right now, there was no where else that he would rather be, or anyone he would rather be with.

* * *

Tyrion stared at the door to Sansa's cabin. In truth, he had no idea how to explain what just transpired there. _Perhaps Cersei influenced her in a different way_ , he thought ruefully.

Raising a brow, he shook his head, the myriad of consequences for such a liaison already forming scenarios inside of his mind. “Well...this will certainly complicate things...” he grumbled as he started for his own cabin, wondering if there was any of that Dornish wine left lying about.

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after their night of passion, Jon and Sansa discuss their situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to your kind words and requests I have made this a multi part fic! I hope you all enjoy <3

Sansa sat up slowly as she wrapped the covers around her. Looking to her left she smiled, watching as Jon snored softly, his chest rising and falling in tune to his breathing. Her eyes went to the scars, the hideous reminders of the betrayal he had suffered still lingering upon him.

It reminded her that both of them had endured horrors beyond that of most folk. While her tormentors had been those southern princes, kings and ladies who held sway over her after they'd lopped her father's head off, Jon's tormentors had been his own brothers at arms, savage wildlings from the north and the White Walkers.

Even through all of that, they were still here. Together as it should be.

“Good morning,” Jon whispered as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “have you been awake long?”

Sansa shook her head. “Only a few moments.” she mused, wriggling on the bed. Her body still ached from his love-making, his seed still drying on the inside of her thighs and the sheets. Still, it was far and gone contrast from the last man she had to endure.

He placed a kiss on her neck as he scooted over to join her. Guilt clouded his face as he put his hands against her own. “We...what happened last night, we...Sansa -” he began, but she silenced him with a finger over his lips.

“I chose this, Jon.” Sansa insisted, shaking her head. “I chose to have you in my bed. I chose...to make love to you. Nothing was forced or demanded of me.” _He was so noble_ , she sighed. _If only I had seen this side of him sooner, things might have been different._

Jon's face still wore the same concern. “I know...but what will they say?”

_Let them say whatever they want._ Sansa was finished caring at the opinions of those around her – those who had nothing but smiles to her face while hurling curses at her back. “What will who say, Jon?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck, “more to the point, who cares what they say?”

* * *

Even still, Sansa understood his point; this coupling would be scandalous at best if word was to get out. “I know what you are saying. We will discuss it with the Queen herself.” she added, carefully drawing him in for another gentle kiss. “House Targaryen has always had...relations such as ours.”

Nodding, Jon kissed her gently, hands resting on her hips. “I just don't want you to come to any harm with...with what we did.”

_Oh, Jon._ Sansa smiled.

Pulling himself away, Jon looked down to the floor as he rose to his feet, his nude body glistening in the sun-rays. Reaching for his breeches, he slid them up his legs while fumbling for his shirt. “I know that the North won't be too excited to hear about the agreement we made.” he grunted, pulling his shirt on with a triumphant smirk.

“You made the best choice possible for our people.” she replied. Jon had discussed his decision in painstaking detail to her upon their meeting at Dragonstone – he would bend the knee and swear fealty only after the war was won. “After seeing that wight up close, I knew that we needed her armies.”

Jon nodded. “She wouldn't support us otherwise.” he lamented, falling back on the bed with a thud.

“I won't lie that I was disappointed, but...at least you were smart enough to discuss it with me first.” she grinned. _You are learning, Jon Snow._

Reaching down to the floor once again, Jon picked up and handed Sansa her dress, splayed at the foot of their bed. She grinned and snatched it from him, running her hands over the blue fabric with a wistful sigh.

“And the Lannisters?” she asked, rising to her feet and letting the covers collapse back to the bed, “do you think Cersei will keep her end of the bargain?”

A snort of laughter met her question as Jon pulled one of his boots on. “Gods, no.” he snickered, “but it was worth the effort all the same. We showed her what is coming. Not just for the Starks or Targaryens, but for the Lannisters too.”

Sansa knew better than to trust Cersei with anything – and it was good that Jon realized that, too. “I know her – better than Daenerys or even you.” she explained, stepping gently into the dress and pulling it up around herself, “she never does anything – and I mean anything – without some ulterior motive. So, she says she is bringing her troops North. We know she likely won't. What else will she do with them?”

Jon shrugged.

“Attack the Targaryen holdings, of course.” she noted, adjusting the dress to her body. “I would suggest that Daenerys be careful else she may find herself without territory before the war in the North is won.”

_This cannot be a single front war,_ Sansa knew. Cersei would never play fair, would never aid them even against a foe as insidious as the White Walkers. But could they get through to Daenerys and her council? Jon at least was not as naive as she'd feared; he understood the basic rules of how the Lannister queen played.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. “It is only me,” came Tyrion's voice through the wood. “The Queen would like to invite you – the both of you – to dine with her tonight. So we can discuss the plans for when we reach White Harbour.”

Jon felt his insides turn to jelly while Sansa blushed beet red.

“We will be there, my lord.” she called back, her voice growing soft with embarrassment.

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa dine with the Dragon Queen and her Hand.

“Thank you for the invitation, my lady.” Sansa nodded with a smile towards Daenerys. Despite the small and cramped nature of their travel, the cabin that Daenerys stayed in came equipped with a small dining table that she used to entertain guests.

Daenerys gestured to the food upon the table. “It is my pleasure, Lady Stark. The King has told me much of you – and I am glad to be able to get to know you better before we arrive in the North.” she replied, helping herself to some of the cured meats.

Jon said nothing, picking at his plate wordlessly. Sansa noted – with some amusement – that his face was still red, blushing furiously every time he looked in her direction. It was clear that Daenerys and Tyrion – who also joined her at the table – knew of the events of last night – so why would he feel embarrassment? They had said nothing when Tyrion had come to call upon them.

It was then that he looked up, offering a small smile to his hosts. “Yes, thank you for...for the food.” he mumbled, almost as an afterthought.

Tyrion's eyes lit up in amusement. “For the record, Your Grace -” he began, looking to Jon, “the Queen and I are the only ones who know anything about your...escapades. And we plan to keep it that way.”

Sansa felt herself blush, yet she kept her face as neutral as possible. “I...do not know what you speak of, my lord.” she lied, cursing herself for not being able to come up with something better than that.

“You do not need to make excuses, Lady Stark.” Daenerys assured her, offering the pair a warm smile. “We do not choose who we love. I would be the last person to mock or question your feelings toward one another. My first love was a Dothraki warlord.” she nodded, Sansa noting the sadness reflecting in her eyes.

Taking a bite of the mashed vegetables upon her plate, Sansa remained quiet a moment as she thought of what to say next. “Jon and I have never been close,” she began, swallowing the food quickly. “as children, I was close to my mother – who was not fond of Jon's presence in Winterfell. So, I ignored him or...always spoke ill of him.”

* * *

The guilt began to burn within her heart again as she thought of the past; the stupid, naive little girl who wanted to be prim and proper, thinking of Jon as nothing more then a stain on the honour of the family. _How foolish was I_ , her mind reflected as she stared towards him. She reached out, putting a hand on his own.

“But we were the first to reunite. And...after all that happened when we were children, I wanted to be no where else but in the arms of someone who was family, despite how I once felt.” she smiled towards him.

Jon smiled back, shaking his head. “That is not quite accurate, my lady.” he corrected, “I wasn't great company as a boy...always sulking around Winterfell while the rest of them played.”

Sansa laughed, playfully rolling her eyes. For a moment her mind settled; gone was the worry of the coming battles. It was only a fleeting moment – but it felt good all the same. _To be free of all these burdens._

“I don't know what has changed since then.” Tyrion jested, raising his goblet to Jon with a snicker.

Daenerys snorted, clearing the last of her food from the plate. “You will both have to tell me more when we get to Winterfell -” she insisted, turning her head to Tyrion. “-though I do suppose we should get to business, then.”

At the Queen's command, Tyrion pulled out a large, rolled-up bit of parchment and unfurled it onto the table. “A map of the North – obviously,” he pointed out, tapping his fingers on the various named settlements.

Jon and Sansa both looked to Daenerys, who ran her own finger up the bottom of the map marked THE NECK and towards WHITE HARBOUR. “My Dothraki and Unsullied ride for White Harbour, as we agreed back at Dragonstone,” she recalled, tapping on the city. “When they arrive – I would imagine that most of the dragonglass you've mined has already been sent there?”

Sansa nodded. “Before I left for the meeting, I received an update from Lord Manderly – they have refined and prepared thousands of arrow and spearheads for use with weapons.” she noted, looking to Jon, “for such a large man he moves fast. He's called in every blacksmith in the North to work on preparing for the dead.”

* * *

Jon blinked, smiling at her. “I expected nothing less, Sansa. Good work.” he said, squeezing her hand tightly.

“That will make things easier,” Tyrion added. “Once the weapons are handed out, they will ride on to Winterfell.” he tapped at the Stark home on the map. “From there, we can best deploy the armies against the dead, however they choose to attack.”

Waving a hand over the map Jon looked to Tyrion, “They won't choose to attack. They just will – they use their numbers and wash over everything, like a flood. I've...we've seen them, how they operate.” he sighed, looking to Daenerys – who wore a pained looked at his words.

Jon had told her about the expedition beyond the Wall; how Daenerys had lost a dragon saving him and his party. _They are like her children,_ Sansa observed. It must have felt like losing a part of yourself, or something close to that.

“Another thing that needs to be considered...” Sansa began, keeping her tone cautious as she looked to Jon, “is that the lords of the North will likely...have objections to the deal that the King made. To bend the knee after the war is won.”

While she understood their anger, it was clear to Sansa that the war needed to come first – and without aid, the North would fall to the dead. There was no question about it; if the Targaryens would not help them without bending the knee, they would have to set aside their pride and do so for the survival of their people.

It was not a new concept for Sansa; she had to do what she did to survive. Now, the North would need to follow.

“The Northerners are a proud people, it is true.” Tyrion agreed, “but once they see that the Queen is not like those despots of old and that she brings a large force to defend them from the Night King...I think they will accept the situation.”

Jon was likely as conflicted as she was, Sansa knew. His face betrayed no emotions but he drew his lips tight into a slight frown. “I am still a King, for now.” he said after a long pause, “but I will do what I can and I must to convince the lords to see the situation as it is.”

“As will I,” she exclaimed, squeezing Jon's hand tighter. “if they see both their King and the Lady of Winterfell speaking as one, they can at least begin to understand the seriousness of the threat. None of them have seen the dead as Jon has, or as you have, my lady.”

It was important now, more then ever that the pack be united. _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives_. Her father's words echoed once more in her head – with winter here, the remaining Starks would need to hold to their unity. Jon, Arya, Sansa and Bran were all that was left of their family; and Sansa would not allow anyone to take them.

Not the dead or the south, or any kind of bitter feelings stirred up by enemies within.

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa spend some more private time together.

“Tyrion tells me we'll be at White Harbour within five days.” Jon said, pulling his overcoat off and tossing it aside, “it can't come fast enough and if I do not have to sail any more in my life the more the better.”

Sansa sat down on her bed, pulling the heavy wool of the coat she wore off, revealing the silk dress beneath. A smirk played on her lips as she watched Jon; he'd grown somewhat pale the more the journey lasted and she knew he was growing sea-sick. “No sea legs, Jon?” she teased, putting the coat aside.

Turning to face her, Jon rolled his eyes in mock indignation. “You insult me, Sansa.”

“Is that so?” she asked, slowly getting to her feet and walking towards him, closing the gap between them. “Can you ever forgive me?” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his. His body felt good against her own, and in his arms she felt the safety long denied to her.

They held the kiss for a moment before Jon shook his head. “I don't know, Lady Stark.” he scolded, “you will have to do a lot more to make it up to your King. A man's pride is important.”

Huffing, she bit his bottom lip ever so gently, eliciting a yelp. “The King is lucky that the Lady is so willing to make amends.”

Jon's laughter echoed in her ears as she took her seat back on the bed.

It was a good sound; something she enjoyed hearing. Laughter was always the last thing the stupid little girl thought of, but this Sansa relished in the simplistic aspects of life; things that were abandoned the day their lord father arrived in King's Landing.

She felt his hand upon her own as she watched him next to her, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, his thumb brushing along the smooth skin near her wrist. “I missed you.” he admitted, “to be honest, I thought of you almost every day I was on that rock.”

“I'm not the only one who missed you,” Sansa blushed before continuing, “Arya and Bran both can't wait to see you. Arya especially; gods, Jon – she is such a strong woman now. She has such skill at arms; can hold her own against Brienne with little effort.”

Jon nodded. “Aye, you told me as such. I always knew she would break the mold of being a lady.”

Sansa wondered how to explain further about Bran. “Bran too. He...is looking forward to seeing you, I know he is. It is just...he has difficulties with things due to his visions in the trees. Green-seeing, he called it.”

Raising a brow, Jon narrowed his eyes. “Green-seeing? I...I think I recall Maester Luwin teaching us about that when we were younger. It was some kind of magic the Children of the Forest practised. Very old, very ancient. Something about...the weirwood trees.”

That sounded accurate. “He knows things about the past. About those in the castle. When we...confronted Lord Baelish, he was able to tell us what he did to Father.” Sansa's mind burned with anger at Bran's words, even with Baelish now nothing more then ashes drifting in the wind.

_You held a knife to his throat. You said, 'I did warn you not to trust me.'_

* * *

She had prepared a passionate defense of her execution of the man – but Jon had embraced what the siblings had accomplished wholeheartedly. “I'm just sorry I wasn't there to see him die,” Jon grumbled, “though I hope he suffered at the end.”

“He did.” Sansa brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, “it was almost....pleasurable to see the man grovel like the dog he was.” she smiled, brushing her hand across Jon's face. This was no time to think of such things; the rot had been cut from the north thanks to her, Arya and Bran.

Jon leaned into her touch, sighing gently. She could tell the stress and anxiety about the coming battles was wearing on him; he'd clearly lost weight since leaving Winterfell, and his eyes constantly drooped no matter how much sleep he got.

“I'll be glad when this is all over,” she caressed his chin, pulling him in for another kiss, “when winter ends, and we can start over. Rebuild...everything that was lost. As a family.”

Groaning into her kiss, Jon nodded. “Aye,” he slumped back onto the bed, “but at least....at least for this, we have each other. I don't have to try and do this alone.”

Laying back on the bed next to him, Sansa pulled Jon close to her. “We have each other.” she whispered, nuzzling against his neck. His scent was earthy and rich; it exuded a sense of security and safety and she never tired of it. No matter how long she lay by his side like this; there was no need for diplomacy or persuasion with Jon.

He placed a kiss on her neck, stroking her hair. “No one will hurt you again, Sana.”

She remembered telling him that no one could protect her. It was a cynical view – but one that was completely valid given all of those who had promised and lied to her throughout her time in the south. But Jon was...different. While she knew he could not protect her forever, he was still the only one she felt safe with. “I know.” she rested her lips upon his cheek.

Sleep came easy for Sansa that night; with Jon in her bed and Brienne watching the door, there was no one who would dare harm her – the Ramsays and Joffreys and Baelishes of the world would be hard-pressed to make her a plaything again.

* * *

 

 


End file.
